


Tumblr Prompts Part Two (Sterek Edition)

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Every Chapter is a Different Ficlet, Exhibitionism, Just the Tip, Light Bondage, M/M, Nipple Licking, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Nipple Torture, Somnophilia, Stiles' Nipples, Tie Kink, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-02-18 12:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 14,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2348561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sterek ficlets inspired by asks from my tumblr inbox.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shave That Scraggly Mess!

**Author's Note:**

> Every chapter is its own ficlet, all Sterek-centric. I close these out when I get 25 chapters, so it was time to start a new one!

Stiles had never been a fan of mornings, or of waking up period. He’d argue with whoever bitched about it — his dad, Scott, Malia — that he was making up for that horrible, nightmare-fuelled period of time during Junior year when he hadn’t slept at all.

That excuse worked like, the first ten times he used it. After that, it was back to the old, ‘hide under the covers and pretend if you can’t see them they don’t exist’ method.

So it really shouldn’t surprise anyone that it took him as long as it did to wake up that morning. And when his body woke up, it took just that little bit longer for his brain to catch up because, well, he’d had quite a few happy dreams that started off a lot like this.

His hands and feet tied to the four corners of his bed, Derek Hale straddling his chest, a dark gleam in his eye and a razor in his hand and — wait. 

What?  
  
Okay, the razor was so out of place that Stiles went from happily mumbling things like, “yeah, baby, come closer, fill my mouth up with your knot,” to “okay, first: forget anything you thought you just heard. Second: what the fuck are you doing?”

Derek shifted his weight, eyes gleaming down at Stiles. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I didn’t want it to come to this but you’ve left me no choice. I can’t allow the travesty to continue. Gloriously bearded men everywhere are weeping into their protein shakes this morning _and they don’t even know why_.”

"Beards? What?" Stiles twisted his right hand in its restraint, tugging to see how much give he had. "I keep telling you guys: Malia wasn’t my beard. Fuck! Bisexuality is a legitimate thing!"

But Derek wasn’t listening, was instead leaning over to scoop up something creamy and white and begin rubbing it into Stiles’ cheeks — but much thicker than the creamy white stuff Stiles would _like_ for him to be rubbing into Stiles cheeks, unfortunately.

"Is that… is that _shaving cream_?” he asked, twitching between Derek’s thighs.

"Yep," Derek said, then, squeezing his thigh muscles lightly against Stiles, added, "Be still. I don’t want to hurt you."

Then Derek leaned over, his face uncomfortably close to Stiles’, so close his breaths wafted over the sensitive skin of Stiles’ neck. The first touch of the razor was almost shocking, but the gentle pressure of Derek’s fingers pulling Stiles’ skin tight made a situation rise rapidly … in Stiles’ pants.

Derek made a low, shushing noise, scraping the razor carefully over Stiles’ skin, murmuring happy sounds everytime clear, smooth skin appeared under his touch. By the time he sat back and began patting Stiles’ face with a damp, warm towel, Stiles was panting with repressed lust.

"What the hell?" he croaked, hips twitching upward as Derek’s ass settled near his abs. 

"It was bad, Stiles," Derek said, eyes looking slightly sorrowful. "You looked like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. I had to _do something_.”

"So your idea was tie me up and shave me?!" It was difficult to flail properly, restrained as he was, but Stiles gave it the old college try regardless.

Derek blinked, tilting his head as he studied Stiles. “Oh. Well, actually, the restraints were for sex, but I couldn’t get properly in the mood with that travesty of follicular management on your face.”

Stiles went still. “Wait. Sex. You said sex.”

Derek scooted back further, rolling his ass meaningfully against Stiles’ groin. “Yeah. That okay?”

"Holy shit," Stiles breathed. "Is it my birthday?"

"According to your driver’s license it is. 18 and legal."


	2. Same Time, Same Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Season 4 finale, the pack has a chance to breathe, and our boys have a chance to finally be in the same room talking to each other without either of them immediately dying, yay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's technically pre-Sterek with hints of Draeden and past-Stalia, because I wanted some hard core canon-compliant, this is how we build it up, Sterek. So.

Stiles settled on the stool beside Derek at the kitchen island's bar, gently knocking his can of soda against Derek's beer. "Hey dude."

Derek turned from where he'd been watching the various small groupings around the living room and smiled gently at Stiles. "Hey. What brings you over here?"

Running his thumb over the lip of his soda can, he shrugged and said, "Just… it's been a while. We always seem to be on opposite ends of town these days when it comes time for the pack to kick ass. I mean, don't get me wrong. It's nice having enough back up and support that we can afford to split our forces, but sometimes…" He trailed off, shrugging again as his cheeks went blotchy with color.

"Yeah. I miss you too."

Stiles cut a glance sideways at Derek, who was smirking down at his beer. "Really?"

"Well you know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Oh, shut up! Asshole!" Stiles smacked Derek's shoulder, making him spill a few drops of his beer when it foamed up. But they were both chuckling softly, so that was nice.

They sipped their drinks in silence for a while until Derek tipped his chin toward the corner where Malia was draped across Liam's back, rather aggressively flirting with the boy. "You okay?" he asked, dropping his voice and turning his head toward Stiles in an attempt to insure the privacy of their conversation.

Stiles let the bittersweet affection he still held for Malia float through him. "Yeah, you know. She's always gonna be special to me, but we weren't ever—" And he stuttered for a moment, because a part of him was always going to say _ScottandAllison_ when he thought of perfect couples. "We weren't ever going to be forever," he finally said, blinking past the pain of knowing that _nothing ever was_. 

Scott lifted his head from where it'd been bent, whispering into Kira's ear and making her laugh, his eyes locking with Stiles' across the room. His eyebrows creased, and he didn't even have to move his lips before Stiles was smiling fondly and making a shooing motion with his hand. Nothing he could do about it but grieve with Stiles for their lost friends and loved ones, and tonight was supposed to be about celebrating the future.

Shaking off the past with a twitch of his shoulders, Stiles nudged Derek's shoulder and teased, "I mean, it's not like we were _Derek and Braeden_. Draeden," he sighed, batting his eyelashes, letting his voice break on a falsetto. 

Derek just cuffed the back of his head, a genuine laugh turning his eyes bright and creasing his cheeks. "Idiot. And, you know…" He quieted naturally, looking across the room to where Braeden was making some sharp motions with her hands while deep in conversation with Chris Argent, which was still a little weird for Stiles. Having this man with his broken eyes adopted into the ranks of those his daughter had died to protect.

Or maybe it wasn't so weird after all. 

Stiles made a quiet, questioning noise, because Derek just stopped talking and now his curiosity was piqued. "What do I know?"

"I mean, it's not like… We're not…" Derek rolled his lips under, jaw working as he bit them together. Peeking at Stiles, he lifted one shoulder. "She's wonderful, and I'm learning a lot from her—"

"Hell yeah," Stiles murmured, because inappropriate is his middle name, and also because he's pretty sure it'll make the tips of Derek's ears go…. Yep. They were red. So fucking cute.

"About _defense._ And other things," he mumbled straight down into his drink, body curving forward as he hunched his shoulders. But he wasn't _Stiles_ ; Derek wouldn't kiss and tell, so this was something different.

"Like what?"

"Like… how to let myself trust people. People who aren't pack." Derek slanted a quick glance at Stiles, as if afraid he'd offended him, but Stiles just smirked back. 

Stiles wasn't worried about it. He knew full well how much Derek trusted him. Which was pretty much as much as Stiles trusted Derek. So… a lot. Fully. With his life and his pack's lives and even his dad's life.

And Derek had trusted Stiles with Cora's life, so that was fair. 

"So basically, she's teaching you how to be a real boy."

Derek waggled his hand back and forth. "How to let go of the past. Or at least, how not to get trapped in the past."

"That's good, man. I don't know if anyone's said, but." Stiles looked at Derek, took in the vulnerability in his open face, and lifted his hand, placing it somewhere between Derek's neck and the curve of his shoulder, squeezing gently. "We've noticed how much happier you are. And that? It's… nice to see. You deserve it."

Lydia's arms wrapped around both of them then; Stiles was the only one to jump, which meant Derek knew she was coming. Asshole. 

"Why does it look like you two are being serious? I thought we agreed. No serious talk tonight."

Stiles grinned, pecking her cheek. "We agreed to no depressing talk. We weren't being depressing, I was just telling Derek here how much nicer he is now that he's getting l—" Lydia's hand over his mouth muffled the rest of that statement, but her squawk of outrage couldn't compete with Derek's helpless laughter.

"You're an idiot, Stiles," Derek said, then, leaning in, added, "And I'll be sure to tell Braeden what you said."

Stiles ripped Lydia's hand from his mouth to screech, "What?! No! Oh my god, dude, we just escaped certain death! I don't want to be right back in the middle of it again so soon."

"Oh, she won't _kill_ you, Stiles." Derek leaned down, whispering in his ear, "I just wouldn't expect to keep your balls much longer, is all."

Derek's breath over his ear sent shivers down his spine, but Stiles laughed that off, chasing after Derek to beg for mercy even as Lydia made a beeline for Braeden to tell on him herself.

It was a good night.


	3. The One With The Fucking Machine (But No Sex, Whyyyyyy???)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is helping Derek move into his new place and discovers something HUGE and life-altering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For dizzilytwirling, who is a fantabulous person who writes the best fic and who shares a love of fucking machines with me. :D

"What." Stiles looks at the… thing, contraption, the… something completely opposite of what his porn-loving being is telling him it is… Jesus, he can’t even _think_ the words because he’s in Derek’s new house, helping him unpack, and there is just no fucking way…

Mental ellipses. He’s been reduced to mental ellipses because of a fucking machine.

And then, as if the mere act of thinking the words he’s been trying so hard to suppress is physically capable of knocking him over, he flails backward into the wall with a loud thump. Which, of course, brings Derek running.

While muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “ _Knew I couldn’t trust him not to break something._ ”

Ass. _Hole._

But then Derek is there. And the fucking machine is there. And _Stiles_ is there, trying to act very much as if he is _not_ because holy fucking awkward, Batman.

It’s not like there haven’t been awkward moments before. Because, yeah, Derek does the whole full wolf shift all the fucking time now, okay, and Stiles is beginning to think he’s doing it on purpose just to watch Stiles lose his goddamn mind when Derek shifts back all naked and gleaming with _chest hair_ and _thigh hair_ and…. Dangling fucking participles.

But this moment? This one right here? Yeah. There are not words for the amount of mortification Stiles is feeling right now and the damn thing isn’t even his.

Well, mortification and pure fucking _lust_ because hahahahahaaaa, wow is his brain totally capable of instantly creating a vivid mental _video_ of Derek on his hands and knees, lower lip caught tight in his teeth as sweat rolls down his temple and short, sharp noises are punched out of him with every hard, fast thrust — because he’d totally use it on the highest setting, stupid self-loathing idiot — before he reaches between his thighs and grips that lovely, heavy cock in one shaking hand and pumps himself twice before coming _everywhere_.

And then continuing to come because wolves have knots and Derek can turn into a wolf and yeah. Stiles has spent far too many hours having very detailed fantasies of Derek and his knot.

And now there’s a fucking machine because Stiles hasn’t managed to go blind yet from all the masturbating over Derek that he does _already_ , so the Universe has decided to up the ante. 

Stiles recently read a report about a guy in Brazil who died after masturbating 42 times in a row and now feels his stomach clench in terror. He’s going to die. He’s going to jerk off to _death_ because of this.

His tiny whimper doesn’t go unnoticed by Derek, who looks between Stiles and the machine before snorting. “Bedroom,” he grunts.

"Whaa?"

"It goes in the bedroom." Derek stares at him for a long, pointed moment. 

"Y-yeah. Of course it does. Not exactly a kitchen appliance," Stiles mutters because he has a _death wish_.

"I’m ordering pizza for dinner." Derek turns to leave before looking back, face considering. "That… can be dessert. If you want."

Stiles flails into the wall again, then shouts, “Asshole!” at Derek’s retreating, laughing back.

"Yeah. You can’t wait to get your hands on it, I know." No one should ever be allowed to sound that smug, especially when sashaying away from someone they’ve given a massive boner.

Fuck. 

42\. Stiles keeps that number in his head as he finishes unpacking. And if he lingers over setting up the fucking machine, Derek doesn’t bitch. So.  

He wonders if he can convince Derek to have dessert first.


	4. Everyone Needs a Hug Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is overwhelmed and out of hope. Derek offers him wise words and a warm embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a sweet anon, who made my day so much brighter. Apparently I repay sweet kindness with angst, ugh, what is wrong with me?!

Stiles sagged forward, arms barely able to support him on the industrial table in Derek’s loft that had become the battle planning station.

It just… it was suddenly too much. Too much death, too much terror, too many sleepless nights and not enough hope to make it worthwhile.

He dragged in shuddering breath after shuddering breath, eyes no longer focusing on the maps spread before him. What did it matter if he concentrated? If his research proved effective tonight, there would be more, fresh horror tomorrow. So really… _what was the fucking point_?

Just as he was seriously considering a truly Thor-worthy table-flip, something solid bumped into him. Turning his head, he saw that it was Derek, and it wasn’t so much a bump as it was a lean…

Derek was staring at the maps with his intent, focused gaze, but he was leaning gently on Stiles, his own, hair-coated hands braced against the table top to put him at the right angle to do so.

Without moving his eyes from the map, Derek asked softly, “You okay?”

Opening his mouth to lie, Stiles changed course at the last second and admitted, “Not really.”

When a heavy silence met his confession, Stiles had to fill it. “I just… what are we fighting for anymore?” He turned to Derek, unable to truly articulate his inner angst. “What keeps you going? Because we’ve lost _so much_ and I can’t… see the point.”

Derek stepped back and turned, pulling Stiles’ exhausted body against him. “We fight for what’s left,” he murmured into Stiles’ ear as his arms pressed tight around him. “We fight for the ones we love who are still with us. We fight for pack, for family. We fight for classmates and neighbors and the weird-smelling postman. And we fight for ourselves.”

Stiles leaned into Derek’s embrace, too spent to question the meaning of comfort from this odd source. He felt a niggling guilt because of them all, Derek should be the one breaking, not Stiles, who had only lost friends. 

But… it was nice, here, in Derek’s arms. Warm and safe and comforting. The unexpected hug and the gentle press of lips against the side of his head renewed Stiles’ spirits, not enough for forever, but enough for now.

Reaching up, he returned the gesture, squeezing tight until Derek relaxed against him, their heads resting wearily on each other’s shoulders.

"Thanks," Stiles sighed, not letting go.

"Anytime," Derek said softly, his words a mere breath of sound against Stiles’ ear. "Anytime."


	5. Frick Frack, Booty Whack, Give the Dog My Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:
> 
> Imagine how much the "This Old Man" nursery rhyme changes if instead of saying "knick-knack" someone said "frick-frack"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anon, who left that message days ago and made me snort with laughter while I was in the middle of teaching class.

Stiles hummed to himself as he carved the runes into the blade of the knife.  The rest of the pack was spread out, working on their own projects, but when Erica started giggling in the corner, he looked up, frowning. 

And then Kira joined in the giggling, followed quickly after by Scott, then Allison and Isaac, until Derek, with a put-upon sigh, grumbled, “What’s so damn funny?”

“ _Frick frack_ , **booty** whack?” Erica chortled, looking right at Stiles, who just blinked in confusion.

"What?"

"Been reading a bit too much smutty fanfic lately, Stiles?" Allison asked, poking him in the side from where she’d been carving teeny runes into her arrow heads.  

"What are you talking about?!"  Stiles gaped around at the entire pack, absolutely bewildered with their merriment.  It had been a long-ass week, and while he didn’t begrudge them a moment of levity — unlike some people who won’t be mentioned whose name begins with _Derek Fucking Hale_ — he’d really prefer to be in on the joke versus the butt of it.

From across the room, Boyd began to sing in his deep, solemn voice, “This old man, he played three, he played—”

"Frick frack!" the pack shouted.

"—on my knee.  With a—"

"Frick frack!" they sang again.

"Booty whack," Isaac picked up from Boyd, whose huge shoulders were shaking too hard for him to continue.

"Give the dog my bone," Scott sang.

"This old man came rolling home," Stiles finished for them, burying his head in his hands.  "Did I really…?"

"Oh yeah," Kira said, nodding and giggling while she patted Liam on the back, whose face was bright red from either second-hand embarrassment or stifling his own mirth.

Feeling the back of his neck burning, Stiles bit his lip and looked up at the last remaining pack member to chime in.  Derek was standing across the room, gloves pulled up to his elbows as he handled the yellow wolfsbane they were treating Parrish’s bullets with, mouth opening and closing in mild shock before his lips tipped up in a shit-eating grin.

"Any particular dog?" Derek asked, eyes glinting.

"Huh?"  

"Any particular dog you wanna give your bone?"  As Derek asked that, the rest of the pack looked at Stiles so fast, there was a vague swishing noise in the room.

Feeling a shakiness in his chest, Stiles shrugged as casually as possible.  ”Dunno.  I guess it depends if there’s a dog that _wants_ my bone.”

Ignoring the rest of the pack, Derek stared hard at him for so long Stiles began to play his fingers across the top of the table in front of him.  The heavy silence was broken by Erica — because of course it was — who burst out with, “Oh my god, would you two please just… _bone_ already!”

While the rest of the pack broke down in loud, howling laughter, Stiles didn’t look away from Derek, who gave him a long, considering look before dipping his chin once.  A subtle, elegant nod that made Stiles shift on his feet and press closer to the table to… hide his bone.  Er.  Boner.  Because he had one now.

Because that slow nod had been the equivalent of an engraved invitation to frick frack.

And possibly booty whack.

 _Definitely_ give each other their bones.  

Hell. Yeah.


	6. Stiles' Nipples Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if when Stiles goes to tour colleges with Scott, the first day out he gets his nipples pierced with barbells, thinking it will heal some by the time they get home.. Then they do get home and Derek can smell healing wound so he starts paying close attention and then he sees it.. The outline of excited nipple between the two points of the barbell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jenny-1981 said:  
> Eey... I had a tooth pulled today and my face hurts... can I have Sterek nipple play? Or nipple piercings?
> 
> bashfyl said:   
> What if when Stiles goes to tour colleges with Scott, the first day out he gets his nipples pierced with barbells, thinking it will heal some by the time they get home.. Then they do get home and Derek can smell healing wound so he starts paying close attention and then he sees it.. The outline of excited nipple between the two points of the barbell.

Derek smelled the coppery sweet scent of a healing wound as soon as Stiles stepped into the loft.  Concern filled him until he noticed that Stiles wasn’t limping or complaining about any injuries.  And if Stiles wasn’t complaining about injuries, he obviously didn’t have any.  When the idiot got so much as a  _paper cut_ , he bitched for days.  

But he stilled smelled of healing wounds, which… Derek frowned harder, looking Stiles over carefully.

In the week he’d been gone touring colleges with Scott, Stiles hadn’t changed much.  His hair was the same length, he was still wearing the same graphic tees and plaid overshirts… really, the only thing that had changed about him was that he’d  _finally_ shaved that horrific scruff that he’d been growing out for the past month.  

Maybe that was it?  

Stepping closer without thinking about it, Derek got right up in Stiles’ face and tipped his chin back and forth, looking for evidence of a shaving mishap.  But no, nothing of the sort was apparent.  And this close, the scent was obviously further… down.

"Derek?!"  Stiles flailed backward, eyes wide with surprise.  "Do we need to have the personal space talk again?"

Lowering his gaze, Derek pursed his lips and said, “What did you do?”

"Huh?  Whu…"

Derek reached up, fingers hovering over the place where the line of Stiles’ tshirt was oddly uneven.  Then he looked up at Stiles, narrowed his eyes, and said, “I’ll do it.  You know I will.”

Stiles huffed, crossing his arms over his chest before wincing, hunching his shoulders, and swiftly uncrossing them.  ”Ugh.  I did a thing, okay?  It’s a…”

Derek stepped closer, satisfaction roaring through him when Stiles came up against the wall, unable to retreat further.  He lowered his voice to a gentle murmur and said, “What?  Tell me.”

"I got a piercing.  It was… kinda stupid.  And it’s taking forever to heal but—"

Derek shuddered, eyes lowering to Stiles’ chest.  ”Let me see?” 

He wasn’t strong enough for this.  Stiles’ nipples had always been… there.  Just deliciously puffy, pouty little things that took all of Derek’s will power to ignore.  And he’d done… this.   _Pierced_  them. _Made them even more alluring._ God fucking dammit. _  
_

Licking his lips nervously, Stiles wrestled his over shirt off before grabbing the hem of his tee and lifting it to his chin.

Derek let out a ragged breath, hoping that low moan of pure  _need_ hadn’t actually been him.  Because the sight of Stiles’ nipple was damn near enough to send Derek to his knees.  Their natural puffiness was exaggerated by the pull of the barbells that stretched them out.  They were still red, still healing, but all Derek wanted to do was get his _mouth_ on them.

"Derek?"

"Do you…"  He cleared his throat and tried again.  "Do you need to, uh, _clean_ them?”

"Yeah.  I’ve got some—"

"Let me," Derek said, his voice a low whine of need.  And he didn’t care.  Didn’t give a single fuck, because Stiles’ nipples were right there, teasing him.  Taunting him with their pouty little selves.

"You.  You want to—"  And Stiles’ voice was ragged now, husky with the same need that was burning Derek from the inside out.

"Yeah."

"Fuck.  Oh my god.  Yeah.  Okay, yeah, lemme just get the stuff."  

A tiny whine of complaint burst from Derek when Stiles let go of his hold on his shirt, letting the material fall down, hiding his nipples from Derek’s avid gaze.

Jerking to a halt, Stiles put one hand on Derek’s jaw and moved in so close they were sharing breaths.  ”I brought it with me,” he whispered, the words ghosting over Derek’s lips.   “It’ll take ten seconds for me to get it and then… whatever you want.”

Derek’s hands had found Stiles’ hips during that little speech, and his thumbs were rubbing circles in the warm skin between the rucked-up hem of Stiles’ shirt and the loose waist of his pants.

"Anything?" Derek asked, putting the weight of his desire in that simple question.

"Oh fuck yeah.  Any damn thing you want."  Stiles’ grin was wild, his eyes bright with his own reckless lust.  "If I’d known, man.  Shit, if I’d known this was all it’d take?  I’d have gotten pierced  _years_ ago.”

Derek groaned and dropped his head to Stiles’ chest, opening his mouth over the place where one of the barbells was denting the thin cotton of Stiles’ tshirt.  For a second, just a second, he nudged the soft tip of Stiles’ nipple with his tongue through the shirt, hands tightening on Stiles’ hips at the gut-punched noise Stiles made.

"Jesus, you can’t… fuck.  Oh my fuck, it’s too soon.  They’re not… you can’t…"

With every last bit of will power he had, Derek dragged his head away from Stiles’ chest.  ”Get your stuff,” he growled, feeling his eyes burning blue.  ”If all I can do is clean them, that’s what I’ll take now.”  Stiles was already nodding, mouth parted and tongue flicking around his lips.  ”But Stiles?”

"Hnn?"

"The instant they’re healed…"

"Yeah?"

"You’d better be ready because I’m not going to stop playing with them for  _days._ ”

"Ffffuck."

Derek smiled, all teeth.  ”That can be arranged.”


	7. Stiles' Nipples Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon begged for more of Stiles' Nipples, so this happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:  
> Oh eey, that nipple play thingie was sooo hot, you got me all twitchy and turned on at 10 in the morning! More, please, I beg you!! Lots of love from a shy anon

It was two weeks.  Two torturously long, frustrating weeks of Derek dragging Stiles into bedrooms and bathrooms and kitchens and, one memorable time, the school’s (thankfully empty) locker room, to stare for long, lustful minutes at Stiles’ chest before beginning the slow, achingly perfect process of cleaning and disinfecting Stiles’ piercings.  

But for all the gentle brushes of his fingers over Stiles’ nipples, the lingering skid of palms down his abdomen and the almost-scratch of claws over his back and shoulders and arms, Derek hadn’t so much as  _kissed_ Stiles.  And he certainly hadn’t allowed his hot fucking hands to stray below Stiles’ waist, which…

Stiles was going to give himself a permanent limp from all the masturbating.  With fingers and toys and so much goddamn lube because he had this idea in the back of his head that if he stretched himself morning and night, enough for his biggest dildo, he’d be ready.  Ready for the minute Derek deemed him — or, more like, his _nipples_ — healthy enough for action.

Of the sexy kind.  Sexy action of sex.  And fucking.  So much fucking.

As long as Stiles could tempt Derek away from his nipples, of course.  He’d never felt such empathy for the women who had to constantly redirect attention from their chests before, and he’d already pulled his friends of the feminine persuasion to the side to apologize profusely for any ill manners he’d shown in the past.  Because yeah, trying to get Derek to make  _eye contact_ had become increasingly impossible during the last two weeks.

Dragging his backpack into his bedroom, he just had time to get through the door before it was slamming behind him, the edge actually catching against his arm in a burning brush of wood over bare skin.

"Argh!  Asshole, I think you scraped a layer of skin off, fmmmph!"  Stiles’ bitching was cut off instantly as Derek tackled him to his bed, hands pushing up his shirts before growling and ripping through them with his claws — thank god he’d been wearing an old BHHS lacrosse boosters shirt and not something more important, like his Single Moms shirt.  

And then Derek’s mouth was on his nipple, rolling the barbell from his piercing around with his hot, wet tongue, and sending Stiles nearly into orbit because  _Jesus fuck_ , he’d been told they’d be more sensitive, but he hadn’t known they’d have a direct line to his dick, which was already hard as nails in his pants just from the wet, suckling touch of Derek’s tongue and —

Oh shit. 

"We can’t," Stiles groaned, hips bucking against Derek’s, looking for some goddamn  _friction —_ and this was NOT the time to be mentally singing Fall Out Boy, fuck.  ”Derek, it hasn’t been—”

"Hlld," Derek said around his mouthful of nipple, thumbing the other one roughly, pressing and squeezing until Stiles let out a sound that he’d deny to his dying day.

"Hnn?"

Letting go with a tiny whine just long enough to growl, “You’re healed,” Derek ducked down and sucked  _hard_ on the nipple he’d so recently been roughing up with his thumb.  

The other one tightened up in reaction to the cooler air, and Derek groaned, as if he could  _tell_ that it had, as if  _he_ could feel it, so Stiles pried his eyelids open — when had he closed them? — and looked down to see that Derek was straining his goddamn eyeballs to keep sight of the other side of Stiles’ chest.

"Fuck," Stiles whispered, wedging his hands between them to open his pants enough to pull his cock out.  And then Derek’s too, because wow, denim against his dick was so the wrong kind of friction.

And there went that damn song again.  Shut  _up,_ Patrick Stump.

But getting their pants undone and their cocks out wasn’t enough, because Derek’s position was too low between Stiles’ thighs for him to jack them both at the same time — and wow, Stiles was a little miffed that he couldn’t  _see_  the hot, heavy cock he had his hand wrapped somewhat awkwardly around, hello carpal tunnel — so Stiles whined and bucked and generally just flailed all over the place under Derek until Derek got the fucking _hint_ and popped off his nipple again.

"Jesus, dude, Jesus, get up here, fuck oh my god, just … nooooo!  You’re down there again, I want you up  _here,_ here here here, get up here,” he gasped, yanking against Derek’s shoulders and grabbing at his hair until Derek groaned and shifted upward far enough to set his teeth in Stiles’ throat, his fingers tugging unfairly against the barbells set in Stiles’ nipples.  

But Stiles could barely pay attention to that because, yes,  _fuck_ yes, the angle was perfect now, and all he had to do was get his hands around both of them and… hnnnnngh.  Ffffuck, yes, yeah, oh god.

So hot, and Derek was fucking  _dripping_ all over his hands, precome getting everywhere, smoothing the slide of his hands and their cocks against each other, and shit this wasn’t going to take any time at all.  Nope, none, because Stiles could already feel his balls drawing up tight against his body, the gurgling in his belly that signalled — 

“ _Aaaiieeee!”_ Stiles screamed, coming hard all over the place as Derek bit down hard enough to break the skin at the same time he twisted both of Stiles’ nipples.  It was like… it was like someone had hooked Stiles behind his belly and fucking  _yanked_ the orgasm out of him, and he actually looked down to make sure there wasn’t come pouring out of his nipples either because wow, had it felt like  _they’d_ had little mini-orgasms of their own and… shit.  Yeah.  He was so not going to survive the next few days.

Assuming Derek had meant that whole  _days_  comment.

Which, judging by how he was already back to suckling at Stiles’ nipples, soothing them with his tongue, he probably had.  Hell, Stiles didn’t think Derek had even  _come_ yet, and he’d feel worse about that, but Stiles’ legs had snapped together when  _he’d_ come, and Derek was taking advantage of the tight clench of his thighs and fucking between them, some combination of Stiles’ and Derek’s come smoothing the way.

Stiles clenched a little tighter, then nearly spasmed when Derek reacted by nipping at the flesh beneath the barbell.  

Ffffuuuuck.


	8. Make Me Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is sick, and Derek takes it upon himself to help him get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of-werewolves-and-winchesters said:  
> I'm sick, like awful sick, like biohazard! keep away! zombie apocalypse sick. So I'm asking if Stiles can be suffering too? But Derek looks after him because he can't get zombie-apocalypse flu and he is bizarrely domestic in these situations and Stiles just LOVES that... Despite not being able to breathe through his nose.

"Stiles."

"Shufft thuh winduh," Stiles wheezed, gesturing weakly toward the window Derek had just crawled through like a total creeper.  The window that was still letting in a breeze that was likely  _tainted_ with pollen.

Fucking goddamn trees having public sex and making him miserable.

The window slid down with a high creak that made Stiles flinch, then moan in pain before another coughing fit wracked him.  And since his week-long coughing and sneezing spree had done  _something_ to the ribs on his right side, he curled over on himself, whimpering between each spasm.  

Oh god, he fucking hurt.  His ribs, his head, his back, his neck, his everything.  His everything hurt.  

"Jesus," Derek whispered, easing down on the bed and stretching out a hand to touch the back of Stiles’ neck, draining the aches and pains from him until Stiles flopped back with another whimper, this one of gratitude.

"I can’t — _ahchoo! —_ do any research tonight, dude.  I’m sorry, but I’m fucking dying here and—”

"No."

"Whu?"

"You have to get better," Derek said, his face suddenly stupidly close to Stiles’ own, his eyes intense as he glared down at Stiles.  "You have to."

"Yuh, okay, probably, but it doesn’t  _feel_ like it right now, ugh.  I’m so fucking  _sick_.”

"Okay," Derek said, eyes narrowing in thought as he nibbled on his lip.  "Okay.  Stay here.  I’ll be right back."

"Yeah, okay dude.  Not going anywhere.  Hadn’t planned on it anyway," he muttered to the now-empty doorway that Derek had basically backflipped through.  Jesus, what  _was_ it with that guy?

Stiles curled up on his side, hoping for his right nostril to unclog itself long enough for him to draw a goddamn breath, preemptively pulling three tissues — with aloe! — from the box beside his bed in case he started dripping snot again.  Jesus fuck, he was disgusting.  Why the hell was Derek coming back?

Some time later, Stiles was shutting his heavy, itchy eyelids, trying to take advantage of his currently-pain free existence to catch a nap, when Derek stepped back into his room.  In his hands was… a tray.  Where the fuck he’d found a  _tray,_ Stiles didn’t know, but he had one.  A wooden tray with sides, even.

And on the tray was a towering stack of orange slices, a ginormous glass of orange  _juice_ , and a bowl.  Stiles couldn’t see inside the bowl, but his snot-filled brain wondered briefly if it was filled with orange soup.  

Because… so much citrus, holy shit.

When Derek set the tray down, Stiles had to muffle a disgustingly wet giggle.  It wasn’t orange soup.  It was  _chicken_ soup, with stars, because holy shit, Derek was such a goddamn idiot.  Chicken soup and orange juice to heal the weak human.

Oh god, this was just too much.

But then it got worse, because Derek wouldn’t even let Stiles  _feed_ the soup to himself — probably not a bad call, due to the fact that as soon as Derek sat down, Stiles started sneezing again, but still.  Derek held out a giant soup spoon, gently cradling the back of Stiles’ head with one hand — and sucking his pain away with it again, how fucking adorable — while feeding Stiles his soup.  And his orange slices.  And then freaking out a little when Stiles sucked in a breath to cough and ended up nearly choking to death on one of the damn pasta stars.

But… but it was sweet.  And it was ridiculous and adorable, and the concern didn’t go away when the orange juice did.  Instead, Derek climbed right in bed with him, being the big spoon and continuing to drain Stiles’ pain away.  

"Go to sleep," he whispered against the back of Stiles’ neck.

"Dude, you’re gonna wake up covered in snot," Stiles felt compelled to warn.

"There are worse things."

Stiles eyed the pile of used kleenex on his bedside table, considered that statement, and shrugged his agreement before wriggling backward, wrapping his hands around Derek’s arms, and falling into the first pain-free sleep he’d had in days.


	9. Finding A New Religion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon said: When Stiles fingered him for the first time, Derek found a new religion. Discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My anons are the most awesome anons, you can't convince me otherwise.

Derek’s skin glowed, a fine sheen of sweat making it catch the light at every angle, and because Stiles was  _human, dammit_ , he insisted on lots of light to help him see what he was doing because it was the first time he’d done this and Derek’s first time having it done to him and he was  _not going to fuck that up, okay?_

Okay.

So he’d started small.  Or, whatever you called small when it came to Derek.  He worked him over with his mouth and fingers until Derek was sweaty and writhing beneath him, cock heavy and red and faintly pulsing against his stomach, precome matting the hair in his treasure trail.  And then Stiles sneakily grabbed the lube that had been sitting in a thermos of warm water.  When he squeezed it onto his fingers, it was the perfect temperature, and, chancing a glance at Derek, he had been sneaky and quiet enough to give no hint of what was coming next.

Not that Derek didn’t already  _know_ what was in store for him tonight, because informed consent is sexy consent.

But Stiles made sure his fingers were suitably wet and dripping with the scent-free, high-quality lube before he put them to Derek’s ass and just… rubbed.  He rubbed and sucked marks against Derek’s hipbones.  He rubbed and teased Derek’s nipples with his teeth.  He rubbed and whispered all kinds of dirty filth into the hair that covered Derek’s chest, even as he bit at the hair with his teeth, catching some on his tongue.

And then, when Derek’s feet were planted in the bed, his thighs spread wide, and his mouth, such a lurid pink from being bitten and shiny from having his tongue swiping nearly constantly over it, Stiles gave in to the hitching of Derek’s hips and pressed one finger slowly into him, not stopping until he was forced to by the webbing of his fingers.  

Rocking against Derek with his hips, Stiles nudged against his wrist, making that motion force his finger in and out until Derek was rocking up into him, bitten-off pleas falling from his lips.  

Derek was a fucking wreck, eyes dark with the lust that flooded him, his pupils nearly swallowing up the beautiful color.  His hair was sweat drenched and plastered to his head, his cheeks and chest blooming with color, his belly drenched in his own come even as his cock looked  _angry_ it was so flushed.  And hard.   _God,_ he was so hard, Stiles’ mouth watered at the sight of him.

But that wasn’t for tonight.  No.  Tonight wasn’t about Stiles getting fucked, wasn’t about Derek filling up every inch of space inside Stiles.  It was about making Derek understand just why it was that he loved bottoming so fucking much.  Tonight was about letting Derek sink into his trust for Stiles, about taking care of Derek, about making Derek feel like he could fly.

Like he  _was_ flying.

It was about letting Derek see the face of God, just as he’d shown Stiles so many goddamn times in their relationship.  

Dribbling more lube onto his fingers, Stiles pulled his hand back, shushing Derek when he gave a hitching whine, and then wriggled two long, bony fingers into Derek’s ass, twisting and thrusting until Derek was making little _ahh ahh_ noises.   

And then, because Stiles is a goddamn asshole, he crooked his fingers, unerringly finding that spot inside Derek, and rubbed firmly, over and over, whispering against the inside of Derek’s thigh until Derek choked on a sob, arched his back, and came so hard Stiles was absolutely sure for a minute that Derek had snapped his fingers off inside his ass from how hard he clenched down on them.

But the way Derek shook afterward, the almost frightened look in his eyes that didn’t go away until Stiles crawled up and wrapped himself all around Derek, and the way he just pressed his open mouth to Stiles’ neck… yeah.  That was worth still having a hard on he could pound nails with.  

"Stiles?" Derek finally asked, his voice sounding wavery and a little weak.

"Hmm?"  Stiles pressed a kiss behind Derek’s ear, grinning into the spot when Derek shuddered against him.

"That… is it always like that?"

"I built a shrine to your dick, Derek," Stiles said, laughing lightly even as he rocked his hips, sliding his cock against Derek’s hip.

"It… god, Stiles.  I didn’t think… I didn’t know…"  And then, lowering his voice to a throaty whisper, Derek said, "When can we do that again?"


	10. Just The Tip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I read a thing Halfhardtorock wrote and then spazzed out with Dizzilytwirling about "Just the tip" and then... yeah. This happened.

Stiles mouths at Derek’s neck, their bodies slick with sweat and fresh come. “Please,” he whispers into the skin under his tongue, knows it’s muffled but not able to speak louder because the _need_ is too thick in his throat. “Please, let me… just… just the tip, I promise,” but he’s already pushing in, can’t wait for permission, too wound up from hours of hands and lips and tongue.

And it’s not just the tip, of course it’s not, but Derek’s writhing underneath him, muscular body all tight and shivering. As his hips roll up, Stiles’ roll down, and he’s sinking in, all the way, his dick caught in that hot, tight vise until he’s all hitching breaths and bitten back moans.

Stiles is a shaking wreck, but he pulls himself together enough to pull back, push up, until he’s back to _just the tip_ , until he’s not lying anymore, but as he pulls back, his eyes roll up from the unbearable pleasure and he can’t… help… it. He’s sliding back in without a thought.

Derek’s fingers are digging into his ass, pulling him in tight, holding him there as his ass pulses around Stiles’ dick and Stiles isn’t going to last, he’s just not. He’s on his elbows, forehead resting on Derek’s shoulder, the sharp jut of his collar bone a firm line across the bridge of Stiles’ nose, and Stiles’ mouth is wide open, the pressure around him too good. He pants heavily, hopes he’s not drooling on Derek’s chest. Then Derek’s grip is loosening, he’s nudging Stiles with his hips and Stiles stops holding back. 

There is no rhythm, it’s more stutter than thrust and retreat, but it’s so good, he can’t even lift his head to look in Derek’s face, just hopes the little noises he hears are good noises. He wants to be suave and sure, wants to reach down and stroke Derek off, but it’s all he can do to hold himself up. He slips down, a little, the sheets all fucked up, and it changes the angle, and suddenly he’s sliding in even deeper and the little noises become deep, punched out noises and something’s spreading over his stomach and…

Oh shit, Derek just came, he’s _still coming_ , and his ass is clamping down so hard on Stiles’ dick that Stiles can feel every pulse of Derek’s orgasm as it shakes through him and that’s it. That’s it. Stiles is lost, his eyes slamming shut as he breathes messily through his own orgasm.


	11. So Full

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous said:
> 
> Stiles is in heat and he's whispering to Derek who's moaning under him that this was the last load and he's pumping into him and stroking his bloated belly. And then he fucks him through that. Derek is swollen with countless loads from stiles

Stiles watches, eyes hot and greedy, as a mixture of nautral Omega slick and his own come bubbles out of Derek’s wide-open hole. Leaning forward, he licks it up, shoving it back where it belongs with the tip of his tongue, a muffled chuckle bursting from him when Derek whines, high and spaced-out.

Kneeling back up, he plunges both thumbs into Derek’s ass and pulls them apart, feeling his cock pulse hungrily as he looks at the wet, red flesh, all stretched out and sloppy. Stretched out and sloppy from _him_. From his knot, from his cock. Derek is completely _wrecked_ because of Stiles and holy shit, that’s a thought to stir the blood.

Not that his blood needs any help; even on the downward slide of his heat, he’s still in a perpetual state of aroused. But Derek? Shit, seeing him like this might keep Stiles in heat past the medically unsound period. 

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

Running his thumbs around the hot edge of Derek’s rim, Stiles finds his words. “I’m gonna fuck you again. Knot you up all tight until your pretty ass is clamped down so hard on me we won’t be able to tell where you end and I begin. And then I’m going to breed you.” Derek’s sobbing exhale at that makes Stiles shudder, but he continues on in a low, sex-rough voice. “I’m gonna pump you full of come, so full, but this is it. The last load.” Slipping one hand free, he hushes Derek, who’s already out of his mind, and reaches between Derek’s legs. Ignoring the small, underdeveloped Omega cock that hangs there, he bypasses it to smooth his palm over Derek’s slightly distended belly. “You’ll probably cramp up,” he whispers, biting sharply at the ass swaying so tantalizingly in front of him. “You’ll be so full of me you won’t be able to see your toes past your belly.”

"Stiles!" Derek begs, reaching backward, begging, even as his face pushes deeper into the pillow, his back arching sharply as he presents for his Alpha. "F-fuck me. Knot me. Make me f-fat with your seed. Breed me. _Please_. No more waiting.”

Stiles almost doesn’t get his hands out of the way in time before he’s slamming forward, knocking his cock rudely up inside Derek’s spasming walls and startling screams of pleasure from them both.


	12. Mistaken Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek goes to a restaurant to meet a sex worker. Stiles is at the same restaurant being stood up by a blind date. MISTAKES HAPPEN WHEN YOU DON'T USE YOUR WORDS, DEREK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually written as comment fic here on AO3, but in the interest of keeping track of stuff (and because it's not part of the 'verse of the fic in whose comments it was written), I'm moving it here.

Derek gets to the restaurant where he arranged to meet his “date.” There’s a good looking guy sitting alone at a table wearing a red shirt and black tie, just like his “date” is supposed to. So Derek goes over, sits down and proceeds to order.

—

Stiles has been waiting 45 minutes for Allison’s friend Sheila to show up for their blind date. He knows he’s been stood up, but he also doesn’t want to just LEAVE. It’s rude to the waitstaff and maybe Sheila had car trouble or something?

But then, the hottest guy Stiles has ever seen in real life basically stalks over to his table, and sits down. He stares broodingly at Stiles, who for once in his life is struck speechless because the guy’s EYES are like three different colors and HOLY SHIT HE’S ORDERING FOOD. FOR BOTH OF THEM. 

Stiles starts surreptitiously scanning the restaurant for camera crews when the guy finally says, “I’m Derek. I want you… Just, call me Derek.”

"Okay. Derek. I’m Stiles," he says back, seriously bewildered. Did Allison get him a replacement date? Because if THIS is the replacement, Stiles has to wonder what SHEILA looked like.

Derek eats his food like it personally offended him, but he picks up the whole check and even adds a 25% tip, which makes Stiles, who’s worked shitty food service jobs, melt just a little. When they leave, Stiles turns to Derek and says, “This was nice. D’you wanna—”

Derek cuts him off with a growled YES and pulls him by the hand toward a sleek black Camaro, at which point Stiles loses control of his mouth and gushes about how this car is the embodiment of sex.

Derek looks mildly uncomfortable for a moment before shrugging. “I prefer a bed, but if you’d rather…”

Stiles blinks, tilts his head, runs that through his brain again, and lets his mouth flop open. “You. Want to have sex. With me.”

Derek scowls. “I rather thought that was obvious, given…” He waves a hand up and down. 

_Holy shit,_ Stiles thinks. _He thinks I’m hot enough to bang._

So they go back to Derek’s apartment where Stiles puts his mouth to excellent use and then, later, screams Derek’s name so loud the upstairs neighbor bangs on Derek’s ceiling. Derek is even smiling afterward, which is a really glorious surprise. 

Somehow it makes him EVEN HOTTER which is just unfair.

Stiles traces the curve of Derek’s mouth with his fingertips. “You should do this more often,” he says, referring to the smiling.

Derek looks at him, considering. “Only if you can be exclusive. I don’t like to… share.”

And Stiles falls half way in love, right then and there.

—

The next morning, when Stiles wakes up in Derek’s lovely, enormous bed, there’s a roll of money on the bedside table. This is different, but he thinks it’s some weird trust test, so he just leaves it there and pulls his clothes on as he finds them. They’re kinda…scattered. He never does find one of his socks, but his washing machine steals them too, and it never gives him orgasms like the one he had last night, so he’s not going to bitch about it.

He finds Derek sitting on the sofa in the living room, staring in what looks like stunned disbelief at his laptop. When Stiles leans over to brush a kiss to his parted lips, Derek returns it distractedly before pulling back and saying, “Who ARE you?”

Stiles feels his stomach drop, because of course this was too good to be true. “I’m Stiles. Stilinski. Allison’s friend?”

"Who is Allison?"

"Uh. Okay." Stiles sits down heavily on the arm of the couch. "You don’t know Allison?"

"No."

"Does Sheila ring any bells? Scott, maybe?"

"Never heard of them. What were you doing at the restaurant last night?"

Stiles nibbles on his lip. “It was supposed to be a blind date, but… you were the only one who showed.”

"What do you do for a living?" Derek asks and his tone is really suspicious.

"I’m a Sheriff’s deputy. Uh, for Beacon Hills." 

Derek’s face goes alarmingly pale. “What?”

Stiles tries an awkward laugh. “Um. You’re not a criminal, right? I don’t need to get out my cuffs for non-kinky reasons?”

Derek blanches even more before rapidly shaking his head. “No, no. This was just. A misunderstanding.”

Stiles…deflates. “Yeah. Of course.” His awkward laugh goes flat. Sad. “What else could it be?”

He’s halfway to the door when he hears a crash and turns to see Derek standing up, his laptop on the floor looking a little…damaged.

"Not—" Derek holds out a hand in the HALT gesture and then eats up the space between them with long strides until he’s close enough for Stiles to count the flecks of gold in his eyes. "Not a bad mistake. A good one."

"Serendipitous?" Stiles asks, crossing his fingers behind his back.

All his dreams are answered when Derek smiles shyly and says, “That means lucky.”


	13. Somnophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nivalvixen said: Eey! I woke up at 2am, I can't sleep & I beg for sleepy Sterek so I can go back to sleep. Please?!?!! *hugs* <3
> 
> Anon said: Here is a prompt for you: Stiles falls asleep on Derek and Derek doesn't dare to move and he kind of likes it because Stiles feels so good in his arms. It's all very innocent and not creepy at all until Stiles starts making ridiculously arousing noises because he is having one of those dreams. Derek is conflicted until he hears Stiles calling his name. Anyway, my kink is somnophilia, in case that was not clear.

It’s been a long week.  Between a coven of dark witches and finals, most of the pack has already headed out, off to their separate homes.  The only one left is Stiles, and Derek doesn’t think anything of it.  The Sheriff is working night shift all week, which means that if Stiles leaves, he’s just going back to a cold and empty house.

At least here, there’s pack.  

They’re watching a movie, something with Jeremy Renner and explosions and chase scenes on ridiculously tiny motorbikes.  Derek stopped paying attention ten minutes into the movie, when Stiles curled up against him.  Now he’s gone nearly boneless against Derek, and the evenness of his breathing is a sure sign he’s asleep, but Derek is loathe to move him.  If he wakes, he may decide to go home after all.

That’s where his pillow is, and everyone knows Stiles needs his pillow to sleep properly.

But Stiles doesn’t appear to be having any issue sleeping now, like this, so Derek slowly, so slowly, eases to the side, turns his body so that Stiles gently slides down until his head is nestled in Derek’s lap, his legs coming up naturally to curl onto the cushions on the far end of the sofa.  Derek lifts his hand, hesitates, then lowers it to gently run his fingers through Stiles’ hair.  

With the exception of the faint noises from the television — which Stiles probably can’t hear anyway — there’s nothing else to break the muffled _thud thud_ of Stiles’ heartbeat, the soft, sussurating sound of his breathing.  Derek leans his head back, fingers going lax in the soft fall of Stiles’ thick hair, and allows his own breathing to even out as sleep creeps along the edges of his consciousness.

The dream, when it comes, seeps over him slow and steady.  It’s a dream he’s had so many times that the details are no longer important.  All that matters is that it’s Stiles, his voice murmuring Derek’s name, his scent winding thick and heavy around Derek, his hair sliding between Derek’s fingers.  

As the scent of arousal deepens, grows heady and damp in Derek’s nostrils, his hips hitch up and in his dream he tightens his grip on Stiles’ head, guides his luscious mouth exactly where he needs it.  But frustration spears through his dream when cloth gets in the way.  

Why is he wearing clothes?  He’s never clothed in his dreams…

Ah, but then Stiles lips are sliding along the head of his dick, the only part they can get to since it’s the only bit poking rudely from the top of his sweats.  And that’s when the dream shatters, because he’s never felt this in his dreams.  Never felt the perfect heat and warm wetness of that mouth.  Had nothing to compare it to.

But when he opens his eyes and looks down, mouth dropping open in some combination of overwhelming pleasure and incredible, heart-stopping fear, it’s Stiles who growls,  _Stiles_ who pulls back just enough to rasp, “Don’t you dare fucking stop now, asshole,” and Derek can’t stop himself from thrusting up further, sliding one hand out of Stiles’ hair to drag his sweats down off his hips, freeing the rest of his dick.

And it’s perfect.  So fucking perfect.  Stiles swallows Derek’s cock like he’s  _hungry_ for it, and the tight clasp of his throat around the head is enough to make Derek gasp and shudder, mind still caught in that hazy post-sleep place where he can only focus on one sense at a time.

The blue glow of the screen saver on the television casting everything in pseudo moonlight.

The desperate sounds Stiles makes as he slides off to breathe before swallowing Derek back down again.

The feel of the couch cushion under his bare ass.

And always, over everything, the tight hot perfection of Stiles’ throat.  The soft strands of his hair between Derek’s fingers.  The fingers of one hand digging into Derek’s hip for leverage even as the other moves beneath him.

The wet, slapping sounds of Stiles jerking himself off.

The scent of their mingled arousal, so thick in the air, Derek can taste it on the back of his throat.

The rushing of his blood in his veins as everything in him clenches down, as the orgasm builds in his fucking  _toes_ and  _fingers_ and  _ears_ and travelling inward until it explodes out of his cock, leaving him crying out and half-numb and senseless.  

He tries to get his fingers working, tries to move his tongue enough to invite Stiles to climb up, to reach out and touch him, but all he can do is curl his fingers tighter in Stiles’ hair and hold on as Stiles gasps and shudders, biting into Derek’s thigh as he finally brings himself off, soaking the couch cushions in his release.

When Stiles finally recovers — Derek still isn’t there yet,  _Jesus_ — he hums a little tune that Derek only half-recognizes and then smiles all shit-eating and sings, “The best part of waking up…”


	14. 135 Elmhurst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [icebumi](http://tmblr.co/mozEoEivxDQtarmXNIlw-xg) who prompted: “Derek and Stiles living across the street from each other. They only nod to each other in the mornings, hurrying to go to work. But sometimes late at night, Stiles looks out his window and Derek sees him and teases Stiles with a strip tease, from behind his bedroom window. And sometimes it leads to something more, only for Stiles to see. And then BOOM. Romance! (maybe?)”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags for this bit: Voyeurism, exhibitionism, bondage (sorta), tie kink

His curtains are sheer. He has to know this. Seriously, there’s no way 135 Elmhurst doesn’t know he’s basically stripping down for Stiles’ personal enjoyment every night.

(Does it make it better or worse that Stiles doesn’t know his name? Probably worse but, eh. Fuck it. Stiles has no time for societal constructs like shame.)

From his bedroom window at 134 Elmhurst, Stiles blatantly appreciates the private show. He arranges the dildo attachment on his fucking machine, lines it up just right, and starts it at a slow grind as 135 starts his show.

Turning sideways, 135 slowly pulls his tie apart, holding the ends tight for a second before letting them fall back to his chest. Stiles remembers the tie was green and silver today — maybe 135 is a closet Potterhead? — because of how it made 135’s pale eyes pop. Fucking beautiful bastard.

Dragging his hands up his chest, 135 starts on his buttons next, pulling the shirt away from his body and pushing them through, one after another. Stiles flips the dial one notch to set the dildo vibrating at a low hum in response.

He slides the shirt off his shoulders — such wide, muscular shoulders, perfect for Stiles to sink his teeth into — but lets it catch on his elbows instead of falling to the floor. With the material falling across his butt, he attacks his belt next.

Stiles loves that goddamn belt, wants to feel it smacking against his ass. Almost without thinking, he dials up the speed of the fucking machine.

There’s no way it takes that long to lower a goddamn zipper. Fucking… oh. Fuck yeah. This is new.

135 strips the tie from his neck, making a show of winding it around his wrists before reaching his bound hands, elbows still trapped in his crisp white linen shirt, into his open trousers and adjusting everything until Stiles can see his cock jutting from the opening.

Holy fuck. It’s beautiful, curved up toward his stomach, and through his binoculars — fuck yeah, he watches his sinfully hot neighbor’s strip teases through binoculars — it looks almost indecently thick.

The fucking machine is pounding into him now, the vibrations strong enough to make his teeth rattle in his head, but it isn’t until he watches 135 wrap both bound hands around himself and begin to jerk off that Stiles feels the tingling in his balls that warns of impending orgasm.

Hating himself a little, he slows everything back down to a crawl, turning the vibrations off completely. He doesn’t want to come too soon and miss this, after all.

135 is rotating his hips, fucking into the clasp of his hands, head thrown back. The line of his throat is fucking mouthwatering — all of him is, it’s hideously unfair — and his scruffy face looks so beautiful in profile, but Stiles aches to see it straight on. From inches away.

While _135_ pounds into him instead of his increasingly insufficient fucking machine.

Or maybe while he’s got 135 tied to the bed with his own silk ties so he can ride him like a hippogriff. Gryffindor and Slytherin for his wrists, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff on his ankles, maybe.

What? 135 isn’t the only Potterhead on the block.

135 starts fucking into his hands harder, and Stiles turns his machine up in response. Tilting his hips a little more, his eyelids flutter. It’s driving right into his prostate now. If he’s reading the signs right, he and 135 should finish together.

They do.

And the next morning, if Stiles happens to be drinking his coffee on the front porch — standing up, because his ass is a little well-used — when 135 finishes his morning jog, it’s just a crazy coincidence, okay?

And if 135 blushes a little as he waves at Stiles, it’s nothing worth mentioning… even though it’s fucking adorable.

And if 135 looks at Stiles’ window — and the red binoculars displayed proudly on the sill — for a long second before jogging over to introduce himself, hey. Whatever. He could be a bird watcher.

And if his name is Derek Hale but Stiles maybe screams “135!” the first time they have sex… well. Everyone’s pillow talk is a little strange sometimes.


	15. So Full Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> "Ignoring the small, underdeveloped Omega cock that hangs there, he bypasses it to smooth his palm over Derek’s slightly distended belly." Can we get the version where Stiles didn't ignore that sexy little thing? *is a total pervert*

He’s locked up tight inside Derek, his knot so full he can’t do more than grind his hips into Derek’s ass. He’s not really getting deeper, not even budging a micrometer, but with every flex of his hips, Derek’s stretched-out ass tightens around him in response.

Stiles smoothes his hand over Derek’s stomach, something primal flashing hot and proud through him at how _swollen_ it is. He’s pumped so much come into Derek in the last few days it’s amazing he hasn’t keeled over from dehydration. 

He presses down with his hand, teeth flashing in a predatory smile when Derek whines, high and aching from the pressure. “You’re so full,” Stiles whispers, dragging his teeth over the shell of Derek’s ear just to feel that big body shudder against him.

Derek, though, doesn’t answer, too mindless with his own need. He, after all, hasn’t come yet. And Stiles’ knot is just hard and full up against his prostate, not giving him the friction he needs.

Slipping his fingers down the slope of Derek’s distended belly, Stiles skates his nails over the dried come that’s stuck to Derek’s skin before bumping against the tip of Derek’s little Omega cock.

It’s impossibly hard, hot to the touch, and absolutely filthy wet with precome. Just the suggestion of his touch has Derek arching against Stiles, wild, wordless cries spilling from his throat. He’s almost hoarse from screaming through so many orgasms, and the raspy quality of his moans makes Stiles rumble with pleasure, teeth biting into the cords of Derek’s taut neck muscles.

"This is mine," Stiles mutters, mouth still full. 

Derek doesn’t respond to the possessive claim. He’s too far gone for rational thought. But his cocklet jumps in Stiles’ hand like it’s acknowledging his claim.

Stiles sighs, hitching his hips forward again as another wave of his orgasm washes through him. 

Derek’s cocklet barely measures the length of Stiles’ palm, but it’s like nature took all the nerves in an Alpha’s cock, doubled them, and condensed them into a compact package for Omegas to carry. Derek’s so sensitive that the slightest touch makes him restless for more. To have him so wild and out of his head already… it’s a heady rush.

The only part of knotting that Stiles hates is the position. He can’t _see_ like this, so he has to bring Derek off by touch alone.

Rubbing his fingers over the tip of Derek’s dick, he gets them slicked up with the thin, watery precome, then plays them gently over the shaft, just running them lightly up and down.

Derek’s cries gain volume, and Stiles can taste the sweat that’s running freely down his skin, gathering in the hollows of his body. Stiles licks the saltiness from the curve of his throat, then curls his fingers around Derek’s cock, jacking him slow and smooth.

Stuck on Stiles’ knot, Derek can’t move, can only shift his limbs restlessly, but Stiles can _feel_ it, the building tension. When it finally snaps, when Derek’s release _finally_ rushes from him in wet spurts, they both scream their joy.

Derek’s orgasm triggers his inner walls to swell, clamping down hard and _so fucking tight_ on Stiles’ knot, the muscles milking him in pulses so strong, it strips the breath from his lungs. He’s pressed to Derek’s back, mouth open wide in a silent scream as his Omega wrings his due from Stiles’ body.


	16. New Year, New You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek having knotting sex on New Years Eve night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> frozenbrimstone asked:  
> Stiles and Derek having knotting sex on New Years Eve night. It's around 11:30 and Stiles can't resist saying "We'll be knotted until next YEAR!"

They meant to stay down at the party with the rest of the pack. They really did, honest! But Derek maybe indulged in a few glasses of chamBANE — yes, you’re very clever, Stiles, thinking that pun up all on your own — and Stiles was still high on the simple fact that he now had exclusive access to Derek’s ass, so… Yeah. Stiles went upstairs to use the second restroom, Derek followed him to ask a highly important question, badda bing, badda boom…

They didn’t make it back to the party. Oops.

Derek got a little lost in trying to sharpen his teeth on that tendon that runs down the side of Stiles’ neck, Stiles got a little lost in letting him, and their clothes got a little lost period. Again: oops.

When Derek had Stiles stretched out naked under him, it seemed criminal not to suck and kiss and bite every inch of naked skin. And you’re supposed to start the new year doing something that you want to spend the entire year doing. Right? Well, Derek wanted to spend the entire year with his tongue, fingers, and/or dick in Stiles’ ass. Or mouth. Or both. Both is good too.

If Derek laughed a little — the sound slightly garbled what with his tongue being buried as far as it would go in Stiles’ fluttering asshole — no one was complaining. Especially not Stiles, who had moved on from Christianity to the Greek pantheon to find extra gods to thank for the situation he found himself in. Or, no wait, he’d just hailed Thor. So. He was either calling out his pleasure to old Norse gods or Chris Hemsworth.

Honestly, with Stiles? Could be both.

Derek found lube all over his fingers then, though, and since he didn’t remember putting it there, maybe Stiles was on to something. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Derek immediate started pushing his fingers in beside his tongue, only gagging a little at the greasy flavor of it. 

And then tongue and fingers just weren’t enough, and Derek found himself balls deep in Stiles’ ass without really being able to remember making the decision to proceed with the fucking. Huh.

Chambane. Heh.

Ignoring the “eww gross” from Stiles, who was a liar anyway, Derek threaded their fingers together and brought their hands up to the pillow, framing Stiles’ beautiful face with them. Long, slow thrusts perfectly complimented the deep, meaningful eye contact Derek was going for.

Well, right up until Stiles crooked an eyebrow and asked if they were really “at that place” in their relationship. Derek didn’t bother thinking about that — he had the slightly fuzzy feeling that question would normally make him freak out and hide behind a scowl, but.

New Year, new you. Or whatever.

So Derek just breathed, “Yeah,” and squeezed Stiles’ hands gently, grinning back when Stiles’ skeptical look broke into a soft, bright, happy expression. 

"Really?"

"Yeah," Derek whispered, rolling his hips and leaning down to brush their lips.

"No take backs." Stiles’ words were muted by Derek’s mouth, but clear nonetheless.

"Never. I want to spend every day doing this. With you," Derek added before Stiles could think to ask for clarification.

"Oh my god. I can’t believe you’re this romantic with a little alcohol in your system. I’m keeping you drunk forever." 

"Not drunk." Derek sank his teeth into his bottom lip on a particularly amazing thrust. "Just happy. Now shut up and let me sex you."

Stiles’ giggles made his ass do really wonderful things to Derek’s dick. Almost immediately, Derek had to thrust harder, faster, knocking the ability to remain coherent from both of them. He could feel his body zinging with pleasure, feel everything inside him drawing up tight and needy, but instead of those feelings snapping out of him in a fireworks-laced orgasm, they just kept winding tighter amd tighter until Derek couldn’t breathe.

Shaking all over, Derek lowered his head, needing an outlet. Needing something more. That more came in Stiles’ scent, the pale column of his neck, that place that made Derek’s tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. Since it was so irresistible, there was nothing else for Derek to do but bite it.

He just didn’t realize he was, uh, BITING it until Stiles’ back bowed with a scream and his ass tightened like a slowly screwed vice on Derek’s dick. And kept tightening. And kept…oh.

Oops.

"Shit, Stiles, I…"

"Liar!" Stiles warbled, his own fingers clamping tight over Derek’s. "You told me you didn’t—"

Derek’s dick finally stopped swelling and then all the tight places in him popped free, making him cry out as he began to come inside Stiles. It was…a lot. A lot of come, a lot of feelings, a lot of wanting to move. Grinding in and in and in, Derek finally untangled one of their clasped hands to reach down and jerk Stiles to his own release.

But after Stiles came, he got chatty. And since Derek was sort of trapped there, he had no choice but to indulge Stiles, so…

"You said," Stiles started, still all accusing.

"I didn’t!" At Stiles’ hazy-and-sated-yet-unimpressed look, Derek qualified, "Then. …When I told you I didn’t have a knot, I really didn’t. Only full-shift wolves have them." Dropping his head to ride out another wave of his really prolonged orgasm, Derek muttered, "Ta-da?"

"What does this mean, though? You’ve been full shift since before we got together. So…"

"Uh." Derek really didn’t want to drop that bomb yet, and from below them the muffled sounds of the pack counting down the last ten seconds of the year, so he jumped right in on seven. "Six, five, four, three, two, one—"

Stiles jerked his head down for a kiss before he could say, “Happy New Year.”

When they finally pulled apart to breathe, Stiles whispered, “We’ve been knotted all year now.”

"Best year ever."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: (from twitter)  for silverloveless

For [silverloveless](http://tmblr.co/mmIsnZGC8JTMikqkmI5cvuw) and their tags. 

– 

Stiles slipped out of the kitchen, following the murmuring sound of multiple voices to the McCall’s living room where the pack was grouped together, socializing after the official pack business had ended. His narrowed eyes skimmed the gathering until they zoomed in on a bit of flaky, dried icing where it stood out in stark relief against the silky blackness of Derek’s beard. 

Making his way around the room to the back of the loveseat where Derek was lounging as he spoke to Mason, Stiles leaned over, letting his hands trail over Derek’s shoulders and down his chest to play with the hair that crinkled under the thin fabric of his v neck. Dragging his hands back up, he wrapped one around Derek’s throat, feeling the thick muscles work as Derek swallowed, his breathing gone shallow in the suddenly-silent room. 

With the entire pack watching, with every ear trained on the spectacle taking place right before their eyes, – 

–with the Sheriff sighing in defeat and handing Chris a crumpled wad of cash from his pocket– 

–Stiles made sure to speak very clearly. He would hate for his lesson to miss anyone. 

“If you ever,” he said, speaking low and menacing, “eat the last of the iced animal crackers again, you’re fucking done.” He squeezed Derek’s throat one last time for emphasis… 

…Just as Chris scowled and handed the cash back to the Sheriff.


	18. for frozenbrimstone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cracky knotting porn. :D

“Hnn, hnn, hnn,” Stiles groaned, every breath knocked from him rising in pitch and frequency as Derek’s thrusts sped up, his breath blowing hot against the back of Stiles’ neck. 

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek panted, the sharp points of his teeth resting lightly on Stiles’ skin. “So hot. God, so…unnh, tight. So. _Tight._ ” Derek’s whispered praise cut off in a questioning sort of whimper that was echoed by Stiles’ panicky breathing. 

The bow tie shoved into Stiles’ mouth was a spit-soaked mess, and did little to muffle the high-pitched, “Drrk?!” that burst from him. “Wu fkk?” 

“Stiles.” Derek’s fingers, already gripping Stiles’ hips, dug in further, leaving what would surely be bruises within the hour. “Oh fuck. What…?” 

An unintelligible string of muffled syllables burst from Stiles then, before the sound of the tie being spit out of his mouth echoed in the small, pitch-black closet. “Derek,” he whispered furiously, levering his hips away from Derek for the barest instant before he let out a pained sound and stopped pulling away. “You’ve got to be shitting me!” Stiles half-yelled, prompting Derek to shush him. 

“Stiles–” 

“You _rolled your eyes at me_ , Derek Hale! When I asked you about this _very possibility_ , you rolled your eyes at me and… oh my god. Oh my _god_ , make it stop. Derek, make it–” Stiles’ voice gurgled to a stop, in part because Derek had shifted behind him and in part because… 

Well, because Derek’s dick was _still_ swelling to ridiculous proportions inside his ass. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek sighed, sounding blissed-out. 

The asshole. 

“No, you’re fucking not.” Stiles shifted forward, unamused, then yelped and leaned back again. Note to self: do not try moving away from a werewolf whose dick has blown up like a Macy’s Day Parade balloon inside your ass. 

“Sorry,” Derek breathed against his neck, just before he licked over the skin. 

“Whatever. How long is this going to take?” Stiles felt his ire melting away as Derek reached further around, wrapping a firm hand around his dick. 

“Dunno,” Derek mumbled, still worrying the skin of Stiles’ neck. 

Which meant there’d be a giant hickey there in a minute. Stiles winced. 

Lydia was going to murder him. 

Ducking his head in an attempt to dislodge Derek’s mouth, Stiles reached back, snapping his fingers in the vicinity of Derek’s face. “Hey. Dog breath. I need you to focus.” When Derek just let out a huff of laughter, Stiles froze, eyes going wide with worry. “Dude. What is wrong with you?” 

“Nothin’,” Derek mumbled, one arm wrapping around Stiles’ chest and pulling him in tight and snug against Derek’s front as his hand sped up on Stiles’ still very interested dick. 

And okay, it made sense, really. If he wasn’t going to be able to walk out of this closet anytime soon, he might as well get a good orgasm out of it. So Stiles relaxed into it, let his head loll back against Derek’s shoulder as Derek quickly and efficiently stripped his dick, his teeth scraping deliciously over the pulsepoint in Stiles’ neck until Stiles’ whole body stiffened up and he came in long pulses all over the inside of the closet door. 

And probably his charcoal gray suit pants as well. 

Lydia was going to murder him _messily_. 

Derek muffled a whine against Stiles’ shoulder. “St…” 

“Don’t go nonverbal on me right now, mister,” Stiles murmured, unable to keep from petting the bit of Derek’s thick, hairy thigh he could reach. Orgasms, man. So good for helping him deal with negative emotions. 

“Hnngh.” 

“So, uh. Any idea when I can expect my ass to be my own again?” Stiles scritched at the whorls of hair under his fingernails idly, eyes half-closing as Derek just nosed at his neck in response. “Okay. Well. This is going to be awkward to explain to Scott–” 

Derek’s arm tightened around Stiles, cutting off his breath momentarily. 

“Hey, wolf face, chill. Not my fault you decided to break out the new and improved sex moves at a _wedding_. While we were supposed to be having a quickie in the coat closet. ” Giving Derek a little punch, Stiles muttered, “This, bee tee dubs? Is like the antithesis of a quickie. This is a longie.” 

Another muffled laugh was Derek’s only response, which made Stiles roll his eyes. “Haha, wolf’s got jokes. Seriously, though, dude. Wedding starts in like ten minutes.” 

“Mmmm nuh,” Derek grumbled, adding a shrug that Stiles could feel all along his back. 

“Well, you _will_ care when Scott realizes I’m MIA. With the _rings._ And if you think Kira’s going to just ignore the fact that _her_ best man is missing…” 

“Hrrr. Rings,” Derek whined. 

“What? Seriously? Oh my god, we are so dead. I thought Lydia was holding Kira’s rings!” 

Just then, the door flew open, blinding Stiles – and Derek – as the light from the church lobby flooded in. 

“I would say I can’t believe you two,” Lydia hissed, eyes glinting angrily at them even as Stiles shrank back against Derek, hands dropping to shield his junk from view. “But I knew something like this would happen. Where are the rings?” 

“You knew knotting was a thing?!” Stiles asked in a strangled whisper, almost forgetting his state of undress in his urge to flail at her. 

Lydia didn’t even bat an eyelash, just pursed her lips in judgement. “Lupus Canidae mating behavior 101. Where. Are. The. Rings?” 

Stiles and Derek shuffled around until they could reach their respective pockets – with Derek only growling a _little_ territorially at Lydia – and hand both velvet boxes to Lydia, who snatched them and slammed the door closed once more. 

The wedding went off without a hitch… 

Once the respective best men of the bride and groom were able to separate themselves and join the rest of the wedding party. 

Twenty minutes late. 

(They spent the reception trying – and failing – to hide from Lydia.)


	19. Chapter 19

It’s not something they do a lot. As often as they can, yes. But not a lot, not like people think. 

And they never talk about it. For one thing, they don’t have to. Stiles has learned to read Derek’s emotions in the tiny variations of his expression 

(“feelsbrows, dude, you have _feelsbrows_ ”) 

and Derek can sense the softening of Stiles’ feelings for him. It works for them because neither of them are comfortable talking about it.

When their schedules line up, though, they make the time for this. For being in each other’s space, for lingering touches and words that don’t mean anything other than _I’m here._ They ease into the shadows, winding around each other, losing clothes as necessary – which sometimes means Stiles still has his undershirt on or maybe that Derek has a sock still bound up around the narrow part of his foot. 

(“Wearing socks to bed; that’s it! The romance is gone.”)

But for all the ways they edge around it, skirt the line between biting sarcasm and brutal honesty, sometimes… sometimes they surprise each other.

Like when Derek feels the irritation and exhaustion that itches beneath Stiles’ skin after a long day and just pulls him to the couch to watch Galaxy Quest, fingers warm where they press and strum over the taut tendons at the back of Stiles’ neck until he relaxes. Until he’s grinning at the screen, quoting dialogue in perfect sync and tone with the characters.

Or when Stiles presses firm kisses to Derek’s abdomen, covering up the ghost of other touches until Derek’s instinctive need to flinch from the contact fades. Then after, as they’re avoiding all skin-on-skin contact because they’re both too hot and sweaty from the activity that tore the fitted sheet from three corners of the bed, when Stiles talks about anything and nothing, his heartbeat settling into its normal rhythms. When he finally rolls back toward Derek, how his fingers sneak back over the places his mouth traced earlier, pressing the memory into Derek’s flesh. 

They’re never going to be that couple. The one with a Christmas card and a wedding album and cutesy nicknames. There’s too much history darkening their eyes. Too much horror that haunts their nightmares and prevents them from sleeping next to one another. They know. 

They tried.

(“It’s all right, it’s all right. I’m not hurt!”

“You’re _bleeding._ I cut you–”

“Shh. I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound. Just a flesh wound, okay?”)

But for all that they don’t do this all the time, they don’t shy away from it. They’re necessary to each other. Necessary _for_ each other. They’re an elbow to the side and a badly-timed pun. An eye roll and a lowering of brows.

They’re sharp edges that somehow never cut but instead line up like broken bits of a jigsaw puzzle.

Maybe it’s not love.

But maybe…

Maybe it is.


	20. For littlerosetrove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek comes back like a man with a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written a few days ago for littlerosetrove, who is just an amazing person.

Derek exits the car with purpose, eyes trained on the house as he swings one leg out, then the other. He stands, shutting the door firmly, but not slamming it. The motion is precise. Effective.

His stride as he walks toward the door is long enough to eat up the distance, but he’s not in a rush. His shoulders are squared, his back straight, his unblinking gaze is fixed on the door. If he’s nervous at all, not so much as the flutter of an eyelash gives it away.

His jaw is set, but his hands are loose, relaxed. He’s not afraid or stressed. He’s simply determined.

He’s a man on a mission.

As his booted foot hits the bottom porch step, the house door is flung open. Stiles steps out to greet him, wide, mobile mouth curving around a shocked – happy – exclamation of Derek’s name.

Derek doesn’t even pause, just continues forward until he’s close enough to curve one hand around the back of Stiles’ head, the other coming up to cup his jaw. He draws Stiles forward easily as he tilts his own head in a manner that suggests long practice.

It’s the first time he’s ever touched Stiles like this outside of fantasy.

A word, a sentence, an entire paragraph of speech is lost between them as Derek slides his mouth once across Stiles’, testing, teasing. And then he presses closer, his shoulders lifting and hips canting forward as he gives himself completely over to this kiss.

His mouth opens, sucking at Stiles’ bottom lip even as cracked noise breaks free of Stiles’ mouth. It’s confused, speaks of loss and pain and redemption. It’s their entire history in one lonely, choked sound, and Derek just absorbs it into himself, feeding a sound of hope and home and _always_ back to Stiles.

Stiles grabs at Derek’s waist, his hip, drags him closer in a move so needy it makes Derek rumble low in his throat, a soothing growl that vibrates their chests where they’re pressed together.

Derek licks into Stiles mouth, rumbling again when Stiles catches his tongue, sucks lightly on it.

They stay like that for long minutes, pressed so close, wrapped up in each other to the exclusion of everything else. They don’t notice – or don’t care about – the people crowding into the hallway with wide eyes and hidden grins. Or the cars passing just a touch slower than normal on the street behind Derek.

Derek can feel the slight burn of late-day stubble against his lips as he tilts his head again, deepening the kiss further. It sends a thrill through him, makes him tug just a bit more on the hair his fingers are clenched in. He can feel Stiles trembling against him, way down deep, like he’s overexerting muscles long gone dormant.

Breaking the kiss, he tilts his head forward, presses his brow to Stiles’, eyes slitting open to see Stiles blinking in dazed confusion. He can’t help it, has to buss his lips over the corner of Stiles’ mouth once more for that.

It’s adorable; sue him.

Stiles is still making little hitching, whining noises, his fingers curled so tight in the side of Derek’s shirt it’s pulling tight across his neck. But Derek doesn’t care, just murmurs soothingly back at him, slides his thumb slowly back and forth just under Stiles’ jaw.

“Stay,” Stiles finally says, moving just enough to bury his face in Derek’s neck, long arms wrapped tight around him like he’ll never let go again.

Derek smiles, nosing at the hair just behind Stiles’ ear. His arm is caught at a weird angle, elbow probably a little sharp as it digs into Stiles’ chest, but he doesn’t move it, just keeps that hand curled up under Stiles’ jaw. The other shifts enough to pull Stiles more securely against him.

Over Stiles’ shoulder, he makes eye contact with Scott, the sheriff. Even Melissa and Lydia. He sees the relief in their gazes, the misty happiness that’s chasing the shadows away for now.

“As long as you’ll have me,” he finally answers, low and filled with promise.

There will be time for longer conversations, for the questions and answers and tight-jawed accusations and blank-eyed recounting of events past.

But for now there’s this – the unfinished business that had driven Derek halfway across the country.

The first kiss that was years in the making.


	21. First Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I wanted to, that's why. :P

The first time Stiles (and Scott and Liam and Malia…the Sheriff, Melissa – basically everyone who was not outside the church in Mexico) saw Derek perform his full shift, evolved form magic mojo, Stiles felt something in his soul splinter.

It wasn’t a _bad_ feeling necessarily, but it sort of hit him all at once. The feelings he had for Derek, the hope and anxiety and fear for him. The exasperation and annoyance and anger.

All of the feelings he’d ever felt for this complicated man expanded and popped like a bubble and left him feeling a little bereft and a lot like he’d missed his chance for _something_ even as his heart swelled with joy for Derek. For finding this thing inside him. For connecting to that piece of his past and bringing it into his present. 

He was… not healed. You can’t heal from the kinds of wounds Derek had experienced, not really. Stiles knew that better than anyone. But he was healthy again.  
[[MORE]]  
Overcome, Stiles sank to his knees, a little burbling sound falling from numb lips. Derek’s ears pricked forward, his head tilting a little as he trotted forward, nose quivering as he sniffed the air around Stiles.

And yeah, Stiles knew he was just a giant ball of conflicted feelings, okay. He could only guess what the hell was going through Derek’s wolfy noggin. 

So he reached out, burrowing his fingers in Derek’s thick, soft ruff. “Hey, yeah, ” he whispered as Derek leaned forward, all hundred plus pounds of fur and muscle nearly pushing Stiles over backward. “This is amazing, dude,” he crooned, careful of Derek’s sensitive ears.

Derek snuffled at his neck, cold nose making Stiles burst out in squawking laughter and flinch back instinctively. Derek followed him, one paw braced on Stiles’ shoulder as he started licking over Stiles’ face.

Stiles just laughed harder, nose wrinkling when Derek’s tongue caught on his parted lips once or twice.

“Okay, okay!” he cried. “Enough!” But he hugged Derek’s neck regardless, pressing his face there a moment until he felt solid enough to let go. To let _Derek_ and the sudden feelings go. And maybe he wasn’t entirely capable of the feelings parts, but he could deal.

He had a lot of practice.

Only when he pulled back and looked behind him, it was to see the entire pack either looking at him with wide, startled eyes or, in Liam’s case, staring at the sky with a blush painting his entire face red.

“What?” Stiles asked, suddenly wildly uncomfortable.

“Dude,” Scott breathed, looking between Stiles and Derek with a slowly growing grin. “ _Dude!_ ” he exclaimed in excited happiness. If he had a tail it’d be wagging.

“Whaaaaat?”

“Only you, Stiles,” Lydia sighed, though she was fighting a grin.

“Oh my god, _what._ ”

The only response he received was Malia rolling her eyes and smacking the back of his head before looking straight at Derek and saying, “You’re lucky we broke up. Otherwise, I’d have to hurt you.”

At that, Stiles’ eyes went wide, a small flare of hope warming up inside him. 

Turning to Derek, he saw those luminous blue eyes, so bright and patient, staring back at him. Waiting. 

And then the flare of hope blew up into a firestorm of pure happiness. 

“Really?” 

There came the sound of a hand slapping against skin, and Stiles looked up to see his dad dragging a hand down his weathered face, eyes rolled to the sky in a familiar expression that Stiles knew was him begging the universe for just a bit more patience. “Of _course_ my kid has his first kiss with his boyfriend while said boyfriend is a wolf. Of course he does.”

Stiles turned wide eyes back on Derek before tackling him in a hug, rolling over the ground until he was pinned beneath Derek’s body, laughing and wriggling as Derek licked him – _kisses!_ – all over his face and neck.

“Yeah,” he finally whispered. “Me too, man. Me too.”


	22. Bend Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a cracky first kiss thought that hit me in the shower... and then nearly killed me when it made me burst out laughing when the spray was hitting me right in the face.
> 
> Dedicated to Valress, in honor of her birthday.
> 
> Warning for rimming.

They were fighting. Again. They were always fighting these days. Always up in each other’s faces, always on the brink of saying what they really meant. 

Always caring too damn much.

So it really should have come as no surprise that when Derek turned away in disgust, his “kiss my ass, Stiles,” echoing around the nearly-empty loft, Stiles grabbed his shoulder and spun him back, face splotchy with heightened emotion and pink lips pulled back in an all-too-human snarl. 

“Bend over, bastard!”

Derek blinked, knocked out of the familiar pace of their argument by Stiles’ rejoinder. “What?”

“You want me to kiss your ass? Fine. _Bend. The fuck. Over._ ”

Derek stared at Stiles in disbelief for a long minute before his eyes flicked down, saw the jagged scratch that trailed over Stiles’ collarbone – the scratch that had started this round of their months-long, ongoing fight about which of them was the bigger self-sacrificing idiot. Fury swept over Derek anew and he shouted back, “You think I won’t?” Turning, he thrust his ass out. “Kiss it, asshole.”

“Oh no,” Stiles hissed, not missing a beat. “If I’m doing this, you’re not going to be able to say I didn’t do it right. If I don’t have hair on my tongue when I’m done, it’ll be _your_ fault, not mine!”

Fuming, Derek reached down and ripped at his belt, undoing it enough to get at his button and zip. As soon as his jeans were loose enough, he shoved them, and his underwear, down over the curve of his ass. “Happy now?!” he growled, nostrils flaring as he twisted to glare at Stiles over his shoulder.

“Fucking ecstatic,” Stiles ground out, dropping to his knees behind Derek and gripping a cheek in each hand. Without further ado, he leaned forward and…

Derek didn’t know what he was expecting. Actually, he hadn’t expected anything, really. This entire scenario was so far outside his expectation for the evening that he couldn’t claim not to be completely befuddled at finding himself bent over, hands gripping his own knees, as Stiles fucking Stilinski split his ass cheeks apart and placed an open-mouthed kiss – with tongue – directly over his asshole.

Befuddled at the events as they unfolded, yes. But _shocked breathless_ at the bolt of sizzling _lust_ that speared through his gut when he felt Stiles’ tongue sweep across his rim. Absolutely astounded at the sharp, high cry that burst from his own lungs. Bewildered at how quickly he dropped to his hands and knees, face down, ass up.

“What.” Derek blinked, chin throbbing from where it had hit the floor from his sudden drop. “What,” he breathed again.

“I. Ummm, I. Shit,” Stiles whispered. But instead of backing away, his long fingers tightened on Derek’s ass, spreading his cheeks even further apart until Derek could feel a fucking _breeze_ on the spit-slick, sensitive skin.

Breathing through his mouth, Derek tried to quiet his racing, disjointed thoughts long enough to figure out what to say. But his dick, or maybe his own, traitorous ass, took over instead, making him blurt out, “Hey, Stiles. Any hair on your tongue?”

There was a long, nerve-wracking pause before Stiles smoothed his thumbs along Derek’s crack. “Not _yet_.”

“Maybe you should work on that.” Derek held his breath, eyes squeezed tightly closed while he waited.

Stiles’ huff of laughter blew warm air over Derek’s ass just before his mouth closed around Derek’s rim in another, longer, _wetter_ kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I do the tumblr thing (obviously): [Eeyore9990](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com)


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